Remember

The sea assaults

Of winter gales when

Towering spray sheets curl

Over the green-stripe tower

At the harbour mouth

And waves roll shoreward

Beside its jetty

Shingle crashing

Floating spume across the beach

With black stones cold shone by spray

That above the wave thrust

Hides the horizon behind its mist

As the sun shines low

On a December afternoon

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The sands move

brushed by moray tale

shivered in clouds

by a sole's shy shift

the currents stir

shaking silt

to mist the sea

to settle -

moving time

over an old log reel,

clearing the centuries  

discovering old timbers:

dead ribs

reaching up to past waves

offering their history

to the naked shipworms.

As the crabs scuttle to explore

as stars cree...

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Hypnotic Methodist Tingling

A sea of souls awaiting slaughter for freedom

Mermaid, just say no

On a darksome day we skipped to death

Marked by a felt-tipped pen

There is sadness, but not without hope

Samuel Bamford is protesting

In Hong Kong

Filming on his smart phone, filming,

Sharing, filming, sharing. Hoping it

Won’t be edited out, won’t be his ...

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I am

barefoot

on a far tide line

sand rippled

spread

with estuary shells

with oystercatchers

soft where rills run down

or the sea pools

behind a half-sunk stone

or a mooring chain

I am

watching

moored yachts

swinging to the tide turn

above their sunken reflections

angled lines of cirrostratus

echoed below the horizon

in the mirror gloss sea

...

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Yet

My heart aches, and clouds hold fast my mind

Thought still I hear

The silence of the waves

The silence of their Siren pull

wash like hemlock through my senses

Their echoes crashing on my island shore

Returning to the sea

Unheard

Their hushed harmony

Foams surging up my beaches

A descant imprinted on my strand

Whispering back to the squalls

Unheeded.

Ne...

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harbour entrance swell

river bridge

above the beach

the scraping rattle

millions of stones

sucked off the beach

returning to the sea

beside the harbour wall

crossing waves

rearing waves

joining

breaking in foam

crashing

onto the shingle

the vast pull

of the receding sea

the undertow of sound

the bay

grey brown sea

under a blue sky

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In the sun's mid-day heat

I see the tall field grasses flow, swell

and come towards me in waves               

surging before the day's wind

the seed-head spume constantly bowing

seems to fall on the field strand where I stand.

The rhythmic onslaught of the waves

continues through the long afternoon - 

a tide of wind-driven swells and rollers

always flowing to my feet, w...

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I could fill a barren sea 
full of tears I've shed
for a moment with you.

I learned to focus only 
on the good it led to.
 
What purpose does it serve
to open old wounds

except to serve the 
greater good. 

So, I bellow not

unless it can be
a beacon 

for mermaids
coming ashore. 

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